


Perfume

by Mojochojo, scannerbrain



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 1940's, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Captain America Reverse Big Bang 2017, Crossdressing, Lingerie, M/M, NSFW Art, Oral Sex, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Reverse Big Bang Challenge, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2017-06-04
Packaged: 2018-11-08 17:24:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11086383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mojochojo/pseuds/Mojochojo, https://archiveofourown.org/users/scannerbrain/pseuds/scannerbrain
Summary: Bucky Barnes is coming home late to Steve and smelling of perfume. Steve thinks there's a woman in the picture. Bucky denies it. But Steve can't shake the feeling that something's off.





	Perfume

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Mojochojo for the beautiful artwork that inspired this piece:
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> Both the art and the story were completed as part of the Captain America Reverse Big Bang 2017. 

Bucky’s key clicked in the lock and the door swung open. It creaked loudly and Steve made yet another note to try and fix that. He looked up from his sketchbook and eyed Bucky as he entered. Entered wasn’t quite the right word, Steve thought. Bucky strolled in. Strolled in like it wasn’t the third time this week he had come home from somewhere, smelling of women’s perfume. It was faint but cloying, flowers wafting behind Bucky while he made himself at home.

Bucky toed off his boots. He shrugged off his jacket. Steve took in another breath of that perfume.

He got another whiff when Bucky dropped onto the threadbare couch beside Steve with a heavy groan.

“Hard day at the docks?” Steve asked, trying to sound disinterested. He wasn’t real good at lying like that, but Bucky was happy to pretend until Steve was honest. Easier that way.

“You have no idea,” Bucky groaned and he sank down further. He propped his feet up on one of the nearby kitchen chairs. 

Steve kept drawing, but damned if he didn’t find it more and more difficult to focus. It was the same perfume. It had to be.

The tension was pregnant. Absolutely ready to burst. 

Just as Steve opened his mouth, Bucky was the one to pop up to his feet. It was like he hadn’t spent the entire day hauling crates and dragging them up ropes or throwing fish or whatever he did at the docks. He stretched and arched his back and he yawned, wide and loud. 

Steve frowned instead.

Bucky announced, “I’m beat, Stevie-boy. I’m gonna head on to bed.”

“You’re not gonna wash the smell out?” Steve asked, finally. He’d never been accused of being delicate.

But he got a scoff in return. He watched Bucky lean down to kiss Steve’s forehead and then saunter out of the room, down to their shared bedroom. The door mostly creaked shut once Bucky knocked it back with his heel. Beyond the door, a light clicked on and Steve heard shuffling and the creaking of floorboards before finally he heard the protest from the bedframe as Bucky sank onto it.

Steve tried to ignore it. He squinted at the page. He scribbled over one of the sketches that looked an awful lot like Bucky--strong jaw, dark hair, smirk, those piercing eyes--until the pencil tore through the paper. 

He slammed the notebook on the couch beside him (and the cushion gave a little woosh and it wasn’t very satisfying, not like landing a punch on some unsuspecting ne’er-do-well). He climbed up to his feet too, ignoring the pain needling at the small of his back as much as he could. He stormed down the hallway, though it sounded much the same as Bucky walking--heavy footfall that he’d probably hear about from Mrs. Holliday the next day. It was late, the baby was sleeping, what on Earth is so important you need to rush off down the hallway and stomp about?

Distractions.

Focus, Steve.

He pushed open the door and watched Bucky in his undershirt and underwear and he was distracted again. Not too long though. It was a practiced art by this point. Focus, Steve. He shook his head, tousling his blond hair, and started to strip too while he toed the door shut. He dropped into the bed beside Bucky.

Neither of them moved for a moment. After that moment, they both rolled onto their sides. Bucky was reaching for the pull cord of the lamp. Steve was squinting at the back of his head. 

While he was looking at Bucky, in that moment just before the light extinguished, Steve blurted out, “Who is she?”

The room went dark while Bucky groaned. This time, he didn’t bother to turn the light back on. They could have this same conversation in the dark, he’d decided.

“There is no she, Stevie. Now go to sleep.” 

Steve squinted in the dark as Bucky rolled onto his back and yanked sheets up over his and Steve’s bodies. 

“There is so a she,” Steve grumbled while he squirmed around, trying to find the position that his body decided would be comfortable tonight. He pulled the sheets up tighter and then the blankets and he tucked them under his chin. It was somehow easier to sulk when the blankets were trapped beneath his chin.

“Good night,” Bucky hummed. 

It was only the third time that this conversation had ended this way. Steve hadn’t gleaned any new information. Bucky had refused to say anything new. 

No woman? Pft. Yeah right. 

***

The next day, Steve had gotten his errands done early, turned in an ad he’d made for one of the general stores around the block, and then he’d made his way down to the port. He stayed mostly out of sight and in the shadows, imagining himself on a reconnaissance mission.

He would find out who Bucky was staying out late to see, even if he had to follow him all night.

Unfortunately, even though he stood at the main thoroughfare for an hour, he missed Bucky. He wove his way through the crowds of workers leaving their shift and cursed loudly when he realized that Bucky had slipped past him. Again. He’d have to try again.

The next day was the same. He missed catching Bucky on the way out and went home and waited for Bucky to arrive home. Like he did. Steve was convinced that Bucky was somehow onto his suspicions (maybe it was the fact that every time he came home, he demanded to know who, who, who!) and managed to avoid him two days in a row.

Not that Steve explained he’d been trying to find Bucky. No, that would probably be pushing it.

Bucky never hid things from him, which made him even more convinced to continue following him.

The third day, he had some more luck. He was sitting on a curb, lost in the sea of workers, when he spotted a pair of familiar boots. Steve snapped his head up, catching a glimpse of Bucky’s profile between a couple workers.

He didn’t jump up immediately, but he pushed himself up, and hobbled through the crowd. He was three or four people behind Bucky, who was chatting and smiling. They went on a couple blocks. The further they went on, the more workers were shedded along the way. Steve kept slinking backwards further. 

Bucky was the next to turn a corner after waving goodbye to his coworkers. It was the exact opposite direction of their apartment.

Steve lingered, looking in a store window like he was considering purchasing one of those fine suits (yeah, like that could ever happen), and waited until those coworkers were another half block away. He rushed around the corner, finding Bucky almost too far away.

He couldn’t run. If he did, he might be spotted or cause a commotion or manage to throw out his back or have a fit or, or, or… So he kept walking. Steady. His eyes focused on the back of Bucky’s head.

A couple times, he lost him in the crowds, but caught him again. That was, until Bucky crossed a busy street and Steve stopped, stuck behind a dinner rush and cars. 

When he did manage to cross the street, he realized he’d lost him.

Steve breathed out slow, though his face was red. He wiped over his brow and looked around at exactly where he’d followed Bucky to. 

It was a busy road with workers walking to and fro, groceries, a restaurant or two, clothing stores, and apartment buildings. Steve was in the way and the pedestrians let him know it, bumping him and growling at him on the way. 

He was just standing there.

He tucked himself into the corner, looking up and down both streets. He really had lost Bucky. But…

He looked up at the street signs and made a mental note, before trudging off back towards home at a much slower, stiffer pace. The next night, he’d start at that intersection. Tonight, he’d have to try and stretch out his back.

***

So much for outsmarting Bucky. Steve waited at that intersection for an hour, expecting Bucky to come strolling by. He’d made sure to keep himself small and obscure, hiding between groups of people, or in a newspaper, or somewhere that Bucky might glance past him. (Though he was sure he would stand out like a sore thumb if Bucky did lay eyes on him--he had a supernatural ability to see Steve, where so many others would overlook him.)

Nothing but masses of strangers.

He went home, defeated and still sore, and not exactly looking forward to lugging water up the stairs for a bath by himself, but he sorely needed the heat.

When he arrived at home, he found the door unlocked and the radio on inside. Either he’d left the door open and the radio on, or…

He pushed open the door and stepped inside, where Bucky was draped on their ratty couch, bare feet up on the table, and a newspaper open in his lap. The same newspaper edition Steve had been hiding behind earlier, that had smudged his hands black with ink. He unconsciously wiped his hands on his slacks.

“Where you been, Stevie?” Bucky asked, flipping to a new section of the paper. Steve could imagine his face behind it: Smug, with a crooked boyish smile, and a tipped up eyebrow, like he was waiting for the joke.

“Out,” Steve answered simply, walking into the room and setting his book and the newspaper down. He looked at his hands. Still filthy. He wiped them off on his slacks, but that did them no good.

Bucky lowered the paper, bending it towards him. He eyed Steve. “Since when do you go ‘out’?”

“Had to drop off an assignment,” Steve insisted, heading towards the kitchen. He pushed the board off the kitchen table, exposing the large, claw-footed tub in the middle. He reached up to twist the tap and the water only dribbled out. He looked down at it, heaving a sigh.

Bucky’s expression softened. He folded up the paper, wiped his hands on his pants, and pushed himself up. He suggested, “Come on. I’ll help you fill it up.” 

Steve opened his mouth to protest, but Bucky raised his hand and covered his mouth before telling him, “It’ll go faster with two buckets. And you’ll whine a lot less.”

He hesitated, brows furrowing, but he sighed. Bucky lowered his hand and gave him another smile, “That’s my boy.”

Steve noticed that Bucky didn’t smell like that perfume. He hadn’t gone wherever… He nodded again and he picked up a bucket. He led Bucky out to the tap in the hallway and between the two of them and several trips, they had the tub filled up. While Steve undressed and climbed his way into the tub, Bucky headed back to his newspaper in the parlor.

The radio sputtered from music to a news broadcast, “We interrupt to bring you this important news bulletin: The Soviet Union has set up blockades around--”

Bucky managed to switch to a new station, one with music instead, though Steve protested loudly from his spot in the kitchen, “Hey, I wanna listen.”

Bucky shook his head and looked over into the kitchen, through the doorway, “Yeah, no. You’ve been moody enough this whole past week.” He made the decision to abandon the newspaper entirely and head back into the kitchen. He sank down into one of the chairs and peered down at Steve.

Steve shrank down in the tub, squinting at Bucky. “I have not.”

Bucky barked out a laugh and sank back into the chair. He tipped it back on the back legs and put his bare feet up on the edge of the tub. “You haven’t been this upset in a long, long time,” he said between chuckles. He tried to calm himself down because laughing wasn’t going to make whatever conversation was going to have easier.

Steve scowled at him and splashed at Bucky. He didn’t move. What was a little water on his pants? He leaned forward between his knees and squinted at him.

Pink blossomed up over Steve’s cheeks and he drew his own knees up, knobby knees poking up over the water. 

Bucky prompted again, “What’s wrong, Steve? You can’t just talk this out with me?”

Guilt weighed heavy on Steve. His shoulders slowly slumped and finally, he told him, “You have a woman. A girlfriend. Someone.” 

Bucky opened his mouth to protest, thought better of it, and he closed it again.

Steve continued, “You come home, smelling of women’s perfume, and you’re late. And it’s happening a lot. And it’s very sudden.” His voice was tightening up and his stomach knotted and his hands clenched at his knees.

Bucky’s smile faded entirely. He lowered his feet to the ground, leaned the chair forward, and he leaned once more over his knees. He pressed his elbows into his knees and folded his hands. He clenched them too, finally knotting his fingers together.

“I don’t have a girl,” Bucky told Steve. “Honest to God. Would swear on a Bible. You’re the only one for me.” He forced his hands apart and lifted his hand up, open palm facing Steve.

Steve’s head snapped to the side and he glared at Bucky. “The perfume. Explain the perfume.”

Those blue eyes held so much fire. Bucky frowned and lowered his hand. He squeezed his hands together again, fumbling with knuckles, swollen from work. “I’ve been walkin’ through department stores. Tryin’ to find presents for Ma and Becca.”

Steve frowned, closing his mouth, and trying to think back to that intersection. Had he seen stores down there?

“Why’s it bother you so much, Steve?” Bucky asked him, unfolding his hands. His eyes were on him, focused on those eyes.

The fire and fury started to face. Steve’s face was pink and where normally Bucky would have teased him about it, about the way it crawled down his neck, he was quiet. Finally, Steve said, with a voice that he was trying, so desperately, to keep from wavering, “You were keeping a secret from me.”

That was it?

“A secret. Somethin’ important like a girlfriend,” Steve took in a breath to calm himself.

Bucky smiled and he raised his hand, rubbing at his face. He breathed in too and he lowered his hand, “Steve. If I got a dame, I wouldn’t be able to keep my mouth shut. It’d be for your protection. You know that.”

Steve sighed and he tipped his head back, bumping it against the edge of the tub. He closed his eyes--even the ceiling was too much for his guilt.

“I know,” he said finally. He opened up his eyes and tipped his head to the side. He looked at Bucky again, “You find anything for your ma?”

Bucky smiled genuinely and reached out to pat Steve’s head. “Yeah, I did. You would not believe the things they had there.” He stood and picked up the chair to move it back to its spot against the wall. “You need anything else?”

Steve shook his head no.

Bucky grinned. “Good talkin’ with you, Stevie.” He patted his head again and Steve swatted at his hand.

“Go, go,” he scoffed.

Bucky did, singing along to the ballad on the radio.

***

Steve was sitting around the apartment on a Wednesday, working on a new assignment. He had gotten three pages (halfway done) done and he was absolutely itching to tell Bucky about it. It would be a couple dollars coming in as soon as he was done.

And Bucky had been coming home on time and smelling normal for a couple days in a row, so he’d be home around sundown.

Steve waited.

And waited.

He had to stand up to turn on some of the lights.

And he still waited.

Steve was getting up to head to bed when Bucky came in. He’d gotten a fourth page halfway done, though he was sure he was going to scrap the work in the morning. He stared at the opening door and he frowned at Bucky as he entered. The smell of that perfume filled the living room.

“Back to the department store?” he asked Bucky. He straightened his shoulders and watched him.

Bucky was slightly flushed, like he’d been drinking. Or maybe it was the September air. It was getting brisk. He gave Steve a grin and Steve swore it was guilty. Bucky answered, “Yeah. Needed to find something for Becca.”

Steve nodded and he swallowed. He swallowed the suspicion down. “Did you find anything?”

“Yeah, I did,” he nodded and he went to sit down on the couch. His sitting ruffled the papers on the small table and he leaned forward to look at them. He picked up the raunchy pages and his mouth fell open, but when he looked up, Steve had already disappeared through the kitchen and into the back bedroom.

Bucky breathed out slow and looked over the four pages, licking his lips and studying them.

Steve felt Bucky climb into bed maybe an hour later. Steve made up his mind to really follow Bucky tomorrow.

***

Steve doggedly followed Bucky from work, starting from that intersection from days ago. He was keeping closer than before. He was so sure that Bucky would recognize his footsteps or glance in a store window and see the scrawny Steve three or four paces behind him. It wasn’t enough to be safe, but he needed to know what Bucky was up to.

Bucky, for his part, was walking briskly, chin held high and his shoulders back. He always walked like a man on a mission, but while Steve watched him, he never seemed to look side-to-side, never seemed to even glance around or make eye contact or even smile at people as he walked along. Which was out of character for him. Bucky was always so charming and amiable--

Steve nearly missed while Bucky turned down a small side street. Steve stopped and pressed himself to a building, watching Bucky.

Bucky turned a corner. Steve rushed down the alley.

Bucky was facing him when he turned the corner, but his eyes were turned down. He held onto an iron rail and headed down cement stairs to a basement door.

Steve held stock still.

Bucky knocked on the door and Steve couldn’t even see the top of his head anymore. He inched towards the stairwell.

The door opened when he was near. He couldn’t see down the well, still, but he could almost hear with his good ear, Bucky said, “I’m looking for a tailor for my Sunday best.”

An Italian man answered, “Right this way.”

A tailor? For his Sunday best?

Bucky had worn the same suit to church every single week since he’d hit his growth spurt. Steve waited until the door closed and he listened again. Silence. He inched to the edge and looked down. There was no one waiting in the stairwell.

Steve made his way around the railing and headed down the stairs.

The door was solid, nondescript, and had no windows except for a small hole in the door. He could only imagine who was looking out at him through the peep hole.

He raised his hand and rapped on the door. It was solid. The noise echoed.

The door didn’t open abruptly. It opened slowly and a man emerged from the shady interior. He had been right in pinning the accent. It was an Italian man in a nicely tailored suit. Okay, maybe it was a tailor…

“What do you want?” he said. He narrowed his eyes at Steve and Steve instinctively straightened up. He was not someone to be intimidated.

“I’m looking for my friend,” Steve started, though the man in the suit cut him off abruptly, “Your friend isn’t here. Now leave.”

The man closed the door, leaving Steve in the dark stairwell.

Steve frowned again. He reached up to knock again.

The same man opened the door again and his eyes that had been narrowed before were matched with a scowl. He had a black tooth. Steve wondered if he chewed tobacco or…

“What do you want?” he said again through gritted teeth.

Steve remembered what Bucky had said and spat it out, “I’m looking for a tailor for my Sunday best.”

The Italian man in the suit stared at Steve, then finally he stepped back and gestured, “Right this way.”

Steve stared at the man. He didn’t take his eyes off him while he walked inside, not until the door closed behind him.

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the low lights. It was a bar. The staff all seemed to be Italian men wearing suits. There was a booth in the far corner where several of those same men sat in a circle.

The mob?

It was the mob.

But prohibition had ended five years ago?

Steve couldn’t understand.

It was a very nice bar. Decorated with thick, lush fabrics, dark woods, and a live band. It was sultry music.

There were other people in the bar. Tall women wearing lacy stockings and corsets, underwear, heels.

One walked by him and in a deep voice, said, “Hello sweetheart.”

Steve watched them go. That was not a woman, he realized.

A door opened on the other side of the room and Steve turned to look at the motion across the room.

It was another person exiting a back room. They were tall. They had brown hair, a stocky build. They were dressed in thin, lacy underwear, dark against tan skin and… 

Steve’s eyes raised up to their face and his heart jumped into his throat.

That was Bucky.

Bucky met Steve’s eyes too. Steve could practically see the heart leaping into Bucky’s throat too. The sudden recognition was masked by fury.

Bucky stormed across the room and grabbed Steve’s arm. Steve hadn’t been expecting Bucky to be able to move so fast in heels.

“What are you doing here!” he hissed at Steve, lip pulled back in a scowl.

Steve stared up at Bucky. Fighting with Bucky was not an unusual thing--they were at each other’s throats half the time--but… but this was so different. The painted lips and eyes were so carefully done, so new and beautifully stark against Bucky’s bronzed skin. He opened his mouth to speak, but couldn’t find words.

Bucky squeezed Steve’s arm and turned to head back into that room he’d just left. The other patrons and the owners of the bar were staring.

Steve glanced over his shoulder in time to see all those eyes on them before Bucky slammed the door shut. He stared over Bucky’s broad, bare shoulders then and noticed a twist in one of the straps of Bucky’s outfit. 

He didn’t hesitate too long before reaching up and plucking at the twist with his slender fingers. It righted itself. Bucky spun around and stormed right into Steve’s face, backing him up. Steve staggered backwards until he fell sitting onto an ottoman.

“What is wrong with you!” Bucky hissed at Steve. “Why are you here?”

Steve’s mouth opened and closed like a fish. He definitely was out of water at this point. “You… I thought--”

“--Spit it out!”

Bucky was screaming in his face. Steve pushed Bucky back and snapped back, finally, “You were acting suspicious! Department store, my ass.”

Bucky finally wobbled on those heels and Steve felt a strange mix of pride and worry and something else. Definitely something else that got stronger when Bucky stabilized himself and glared down at him.

“You just didn’t trust me!” Bucky finally growled, arms and fists straight down at his sides. His hands were trembling. Steve wondered if it was because of the cold--those clothes didn’t cover anything--or fury.

“I thought you were hiding some woman from me! Or something! How was I to know that this is why you smelled like that when you came home?” Steve demanded. “You were acting weird!”

“And I told you I wasn’t seeing anyone,” he spat back. He unlocked his arms and dragged his fingers through his short hair. The ruffling had it sticking out at odd angles. It looked so unlike Bucky, yet so… perfect. Steve wanted to capture it for use in those comics he was working on. But Bucky continued and he repeated, “You don’t trust me.”

It was starting to settle in, Steve was feeling less and less of the rush of adrenaline, of finally figuring out what the hell was going on, and now… he just felt…

“I trust you,” he tried to insist.

“Like hell,” he spat again.

Steve’s shoulders rounded and he lowered his hands. Bucky began to pace.

He was right.

“...Bucky, I just…” He raised his hands, tried to gesture what exactly he was feeling, but nothing quite came to mind. “I was scared, I just…” Nothing sounded right, or like it would be enough.

“You’re such an ass,” Bucky muttered, folding his arms across his stomach. It only framed the bralette he was wearing. 

“What can I say, Bucky?” Steve said after watching Bucky pace back and forth. “How am I supposed to make this right?” There was another question on the tip of his tongue. Series of questions, actually: When did this start? Why? When was he going to tell Steve? But after stalking Bucky for several days, he wasn’t sure he had the right at this point to be pelting him with questions.

Bucky stopped his pacing and looked at Steve, his eyes narrowed. (Those stormy eyes looked even brighter and more lively when outlined by the eyeshadow and the eyeliner.) He looked over Steve’s scrawny form, perched on the edge of that ottoman, then his eyes darted over to one of the large wardrobes.

Sweat trickled down the back of Steve’s neck. He wasn’t exactly sure why yet, but he understood when Bucky walked to the closet and pulled it open. Inside was stuffed with lacy clothes, heels, accessories, in every color of the rainbow (Steve suddenly wished he could see true red again). 

Bucky shifted through the clothes, shoving them aside. It didn’t take long before he pulled out a couple sets of lingerie on hangers. One was white and the other was green. Both of them were small. Steve-sized.

“I know exactly how you can make it up to me,” Bucky said finally, lifting his chin and staring at Steve again. “White or green?”

Those gray eyes were stormy now. Steve swallowed and he looked down at the hangers Bucky was holding up. The green set looked similar to Bucky’s: A lacy bralette with matching underwear, garter belt, and stockings. He wondered if there were green heels in the closet. The white set looked similar to bathing suits he’d seen women wearing before, but skimpier. It had lacing up the sides, making the fabric look like it had an hourglass figure already inside. In addition to stockings, it had gloves.

“Bucky, I’m not--” he tried to protest, though he closed his mouth. “I’m not a lady, I shouldn’t wear those.”

“Do you think I’m a lady?” Bucky asked.

Steve flapped his mouth a couple times. Such a simple question, but it had to be a trap. Bucky stood before him in lingerie, heels, with a hint of stubble and a definite bulge between his legs.

“No?” he answered and his voice was shakier than he’d wanted it to be.

Bucky nodded. “Good.” He looked at the outfits, then held them both out towards Steve. “Pick one.”

What the hell was he supposed to do? Steve stared at the hangers, the outfits, and Bucky, in turn, and he finally pointed. “The white one.” He didn’t have Bucky’s body. He definitely couldn’t show off like he could.

He crossed the room, took the hanger with the white outfit, and he went back to the ottoman and the couch, setting it across the cushions and assessing the situation. He had… no idea how to get this on. He started to pluck each item free of the hanger, setting them out: Gloves. Stockings. Body suit? He dragged his fingers over the silk and then the rougher lace. The silk was luxurious, sensual, and the lace dragged against his skin. He wondered what it would feel like on the rest of him.

Bucky watched Steve and immediately he felt bad, drawing Steve into this, into his perversion… Being together was one thing. This was entirely another. He crossed the room, slowly, with less confidence than before. His ankles wobbled but he didn’t fall. Apparently adrenaline made him better at walking in heels.

“They’re kind of tricky,” he told Steve gently, putting his hand on his arm. “Do you need help?”

Steve stubbornly scowled at Bucky and insisted, “I can figure it out.”

He waved Bucky off and Bucky stepped back. Bucky watched Steve start to undo the buttons of his shirt and he couldn’t take the silence much longer. He crossed the room, to one of the desks. He examined himself in the mirror hanging above it, then reached down to turn on the radio. The door was closed. Steve was undressing. Bucky was in women’s clothes. And… he just had his darkest secret spilled out and he was forcing Steve to join him.

“Steve, I--” He hesitated and he looked over his shoulder at Steve, “I was going to tell you. Eventually.”

Steve looked over his shoulder at Bucky while he absently folded the button up shirt around and around his arms. He set the looped shirt down on the back of the couch and shook his head, “I don’t believe you.”

Bucky frowned. “Seriously? Who else could I tell?”

Steve scoffed and pulled off his undershirt. “Yeah, tell the other freak.”

The silence between them, filled with the music playing on the radio, felt thick and nauseating very suddenly.

At the same time, both of them blurted out, “You’re not a freak.”

Steve turned, shirtless, and stared at Bucky. Bucky was staring right back. He licked over the fading lipstick and he sighed a little bit, “It just feels good, Steve. I… I don’t know what to tell you about it.”

Steve twisted the undershirt in his hands and he nodded a bit. “Feels good, huh?” he offered with a half-hearted chuckle. “I guess I can get that.” 

He looked back at the lacy body suit, sighed, and started stripping out of his slacks. He hesitated at the underwear, until Bucky coaxed, “It won’t look right with the boxers on underneath.”

Steve grimaced but then he was naked, standing in this unfamiliar room, with Bucky at his back. “I don’t have the figure for this,” he tried to joke. “I’m missing hips and… you know.” He gestured vaguely at his chest before picking up the body suit and starting to step into it. 

He wriggled it up his body and Bucky had been right. The inside of the suit was smooth and silky. Panels of the silk covered up the lace he’d assumed was going to scratch all the way up his belly. It cinched (somehow) around his chest, but he couldn’t quite figure it out. And his back was cold--oh. Buttons.

“Hang on. I’ll help,” Bucky soothed. He stepped up behind Steve and started to draw the two sides of the suit up between the small of his back. The lace suit tightened, drawing everything a little bit closer, while Bucky secured the buttons one-by-one up Steve’s back.

Steve swallowed audibly and tried not to think about his cock pushing up against the front of the lace bodysuit. It wasn’t like… it hid anything. “What do you… Uh. Buck, what do you do about… your…” 

Bucky looked over Steve’s shoulder, trying to figure out what he was talking about. He looked down and saw a bulge starting to grow between Steve’s legs. It was… appealing. Very appealing. They were both going to Hell, he decided and he quickly forced that voice into the back of his mind.

“You like this, huh?” he cooed. “I do too… Especially when I first put it on.” His mouth was at Steve’s ear when he finished up the last of the buttons.

Steve swallowed hard, willing himself to calm down. Pink blossomed over his cheeks and started to crawl down his neck and chest. Bucky made fun of him for it. If he saw it now… He reached down to grab the gloves. He could do that himself, at least.

Bucky stepped back a moment, trying to assess the situation. He instead found himself staring at Steve’s ass. He was small and bony. He was pretty sure that every time they hugged or touched, he was elbowed by some sharp limb. It was worth it. 

Steve bent down then for the stockings. They slipped a couple times through his gloved fingers, but he managed to grab them. He put one foot on the ottoman, trying to draw his foot through the stocking. Callouses snagged a couple times on the seams, but he managed to get his foot all the way at the bottom. He got the other one on, but they were sagging on his thighs. 

Bucky’s hands slipped around Steve’s waist and flattened down the front of his hips, missing his cock that was definitely and absolutely interested. He leaned down, slid his hands down Steve’s thighs, and helped draw those stockings up properly. He was at Steve’s ear again when he whispered, “We can get you some garters. What do you think?”

What did he think?

“I swear to God, I’ll be the death of you if you keep teasing me, Bucky Barnes,” Steve answered, his voice low and throaty. He tried to clear his throat, but it didn’t quite work. He expected Bucky to back off, a laugh filling the air, heard over the music.

Instead he gasped when those strong hands closed over his covered cock.

“You’re the boss, Stevie,” he laughed. It was intoxicating. Silk and lace and both of them now suddenly caught up in this secret that could ruin them both if anyone saw them… 

Except each other.

They could trust each other.

“Give me another order, Steve,” he requested, tongue crossing over his lips, rubbing off more of that lipstick. 

Steve liked his name on Bucky’s breath like that. He never thought he’d hear his name said like that.

He pushed his hips forward into those hands. “Keep doing that. I need that,” he said. 

It sounded more like a plea than an order, but Bucky did as he was told. Bucky squeezed at Steve, enjoying the little whine of pleasure from Steve. His own lacy underwear was suddenly feeling restrictive and more than a little scratchy, but he liked it.

He stroked his fingers up the line of Steve’s cock, pad of his finger circling and teasing over the wet spot developing on the body suit. Steve’s chest was heaving and his breath was turning a little raspy.

“Tell me you’re okay,” Bucky whispered. The wheezing breathing was always a sign of an asthma attack or Steve getting sick and…

“I’m fine, I’m fine, just--” Steve gasped out and pushed his hips up again, harder. “More. Please.” He didn’t even know how to articulate exactly what he wanted. But he wanted more.

Bucky nodded and he gently lifted his hands from Steve to grab his hips and guide him around.

“The last thing I want is for you to fall down on your skinny ass,” he said, despite the noise of protest. He helped Steve sit down on the couch and he carefully knelt before him. 

Steve stared. Bucky was on his knees, in that lingerie, and that underwear was not hiding. It looked uncomfortable--taut and twitching. He let his eyes drift up Bucky’s body, thick and muscled from work, but he somehow managed to look delicate in that clothing. He lingered then on Bucky’s face. He was also blushing, his lips were the faintest shade of pink, and he was grinning at him.

“You ready?” Bucky asked Steve, sliding his hands up his thighs, parting them.

Steve slouched a bit on the couch, trying to get Bucky’s fingers to close in on his dick again. It had felt so good and then he’d stopped…

Bucky kissed Steve’s knee, leaving faint pink marks that got fainter as he kissed up his leg.

Steve swallowed audibly and reached down with shaking hands. He ran his gloved fingers through Bucky’s hair, ruffling it further.

“Bucky, are you-- are we?” he asked, stammering through his words. His heart hammered against his ribcage and each breath came faster than the one before it. Those gasps were growing wheezy.

Bucky lifted his head and reached up to take one of Steve’s hands. He squeezed it.

“Breathe, Blondie,” he said. It was an order.

For once, Steve did as he was told. He took in a steadying deep breath. The second breath was much less raspy.

“And just enjoy,” Bucky added. He squeezed Steve’s hand again and lowered his head. He nosed into Steve’s crotch. He pulsed and was so, so warm, which was so unusual for Steve. Bucky was already addicted.

He moved his free hand, sliding it up Steve’s thigh and guiding his legs further apart. 

Steve sighed and Bucky imagined him doing the same thing at night, in his small bed beside him. He opened his mouth and tilted his head to the side, so he could mouth up the outline of Steve’s cock. His tongue darted out, tasting more silk than Steve and it was not what he wanted.

His fingers curled into the leg hole of the body suit, tugging it aside and trying to draw Steve’s cock out.

It pinched. Steve let out a little yelp, then he quickly clasped his hands over his mouth.

“Sorry, sorry,” but Bucky was laughing through his apologies. Steve huffed. He lifted his foot, planted it on Bucky’s shoulder, and pushed. “Back up. Let me get undressed.”

“Let me help!” Bucky insisted, sitting back on his heels. He was flushed and grinning, his hair a mess, and he wanted so badly to touch Steve again.

Steve forced himself up, though his back protested, and he started wiggling the bodice down again. “I just got this thing on,” he muttered to himself, but he was smiling too. And his erection had only flagged some. 

When he slipped it down his hips, Bucky leaned forward, tongue out. He ran the flat of his tongue halfway up Steve’s dick and up over the head. Steve shuddered and groaned. He dropped his hand to Bucky’s head to help support himself.

The hand on his head encouraged him and Bucky leaned forward again, taking Steve into his mouth. His tongue coaxed him deeper into his mouth while he suckled at him. Both of Steve’s hands were on his head now, long and thin fingers digging into his scalp, tangling through his hair. 

He moaned aloud.

Steve did too. He twitched his hips towards Bucky’s mouth.

Bucky raised his hands to grab onto Steve’s hips. He wasn’t choking him yet, but if Steve pushed too quick… He hummed around him and hollowed out his cheeks. The choked gasp from above him warmed every inch of him. He tipped his gray eyes up to watch Steve. He was surprised to see those half-lidded blue eyes, pink cheeks, shiny red lips… He moaned again, closed his eyes, and bobbed his head forward again.

Steve could feel his legs starting to give out again.

“Bucky,” he gasped, “Bucky.” 

Gray eyes snapped open again and Bucky forced himself to pull back. 

“Sit, sit,” he gently encouraged and he sat up a bit more. He helped settled Steve down, bare ass on the worn couch, and helped to untangle him from the bodice. He tossed it over his shoulder thoughtlessly, and he stood again. 

“Where’re you going?” Steve asked. He reached out and took Bucky’s hand, lacing their fingers. He gave it a tug. “Come back.” 

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Bucky teased. “But… I was thinking that we could,” and his eyes dragged up and down Steve hungrily, “share in the fun.”

Bucky hadn’t been thinking that, but after seeing Steve on the couch, mostly naked, and that dick sticking straight up and slick with spit… Bucky had ideas.

Steve had not a damn clue what that meant. He furrowed his brow at Bucky, but as soon as the other man stooped to start easing off that lacy underwear that wasn’t doing anything to hide Bucky now.

It was quite the scene: Hair ruffled and lips shiny and a corset tight around his middle and a garter belt framing Bucky’s dick. Steve stared at him, trying to commit every little detail to memory. His fingers were itching for a pencil. He needed to capture this scene. It was practically a spiritual awakening.

“You see something you like?” Bucky asked, cocking his hip to the side. A crooked smile pulled at his lips.

Steve could not think of how to respond. After what seemed like an eternity, he nodded.

Bucky held up one finger and he left the couch. He went to one of the vanities, searched through the drawers, and he found a small vial. He returned to the touch.

Steve frowned up at the vial in Bucky’s hand. “What’s that?”

Bucky twisted it open and he peered into it. Yeah, it was enough. “Vegetable oil,” he answered.

“Vegetable oil? What for?” Steve squinted up at Bucky with suspicion, while Bucky drizzled it onto his fingers. A couple drips slid from his fingers and landed on Steve’s stocking leg.

Bucky gave Steve a look and he gave him a crooked little grin. “Makes it easier for us to fuck.”

Steve’s eyebrows raised and his mouth fell open. Bucky rather liked the shocked look on his face--it was rare.

Steve hesitated and then he rattled off several questions, “Why is there vegetable oil in the dresser? How did you know where it is?” And he was ready with another, but then Bucky interrupted him, “It’s best not to think too hard about it.”

He was pink then too.

Steve was frowning up at him. Bucky didn’t give him a chance to think too hard about it. He set the vegetable oil on the ottoman, somewhere he could still reach, and he knelt onto the couch. He pressed one knee onto either side of Steve’s legs and scooted so he was more or less on his lap.

Steve forgot all about the bottle. He swallowed audibly and watched as Bucky’s hand disappeared between his own legs. He leaned forward, his chest pushing into Steve’s face, and Steve missed Bucky pushing a finger into himself. 

Presented with no idea of what to do, Steve tipped his head back a bit, his lips brushing against Bucky’s chest, just above the corset. His hands reached up to rest on his shoulders.

Bucky grunted and tipped his head down to kiss the top of Steve’s head. Another finger pressed deeper into him. It was unpleasant. It would be for a bit--but better him than Steve.

“What are you doing?” Steve asked.

Bucky blinked and puffed out a breath. “Gotta open myself up for you,” he murmured. “Sorry, forgot you don’t know.” God knows he didn’t have anyone explain it to him the first time.

“Open yourself--” Steve closed his mouth and furrowed his brow. Oh. Okay. He curled his fingers around Bucky’s shoulders, then he eased his arms around his neck. “It doesn’t hurt, right?”

“It gets better,” he answered. It was as honest as he could be, if he wanted this to continue.

Steve’s arms tightened around Bucky’s neck and he breathed out slow. “Hurry,” he whispered, pressing his mouth to Bucky’s shoulder.

Bucky couldn’t resist. He pulled his fingers from his hole and he adjusted. He straightened up and stared at Steve. He grinned slowly. 

“Ready for some fun?” he asked Steve.

Steve nodded quickly.

Steve stared up at Bucky. And then he gave him a nervous little grin. “Okay, teach me.”

Bucky stared right back. He reached down, grabbing Steve’s bare hips. He ordered, “Scoot down a bit.”

“Bossy, bossy.”

Steve shuffled down, bumping into Bucky’s knees along the way. He reluctantly loosened his grip on Bucky’s neck and let his hands drag down his body. The two shuffled around a bit, a mess of limbs and the rub of silk and lace. Steve couldn’t help but laugh.

“This is ridiculous,” he scoffed. 

Bucky reached down between them and took hold of Steve’s cock. His fingers were still body warm and slick with the oil and a few quick strokes had him completely hard again.

Steve whimpered. The blush that hadn’t entirely gone away was back in full force, crawling down his belly.

“You’re going to be completely pink by the time this is over,” Bucky promised. They were finally in a half decent position and without a knee to the crotch, which had ended some fun before. He positioned himself over Steve’s lap, fingers guiding his cock up.

It was more on him, anyway. He needed to make it good for Steve. Make it painless.

Hopefully with less embarrassment than his first time had been.

“You’re going to fucking love this,” Bucky promised. He could feel the head of Steve’s dick, hot and slick, against his entrance. And slowly, he sank down on him. He dragged his fingers down the length of him, until he touched Steve’s thigh and until he was sure Steve wouldn’t pop out.

He chanced a look down at him.

Steve was open mouthed and breathing heavily. There was no hint of his wheezing, but he looked as dazed as when that asshole had punched him at the bar… 

Bucky considered it a win.

Breathlessly, he whispered, “Good, Steve. Real good.”

It was never fully comfortable the first couple moments, but Bucky was getting better at making it better, quicker. He placed his hands on Steve’s bony shoulders, gave them a squeeze, and he rolled his hips.

Steve moaned, like he’s been snapped out of a deep sleep. His hips twitched up towards Bucky, who let out a sharp gasp. Bucky squeezed Steve’s shoulders again and hissed, “Slowly, Blondie!” 

He softened his voice after a breath. He repeated, “Slowly, Steve.”

Steve’s eyes fluttered up to watch Bucky’s face. His mouth was still hanging open, pink tongue darting out between his lips. But he nodded. He rolled his hips up slow. It wasn’t exactly steady--his legs shook and he was hissing out his breath and his eyes fluttered again.

Bucky tried to roll his hips down to meet Steve’s, but for a few strokes, he couldn’t find the right rhythm. He sank down as Steve was sinking down, lifted up when Steve thrusted up.

His hands slid down to Steve’s chest, pushing him more firmly into the couch. “With me,” he insisted and then he said, “Up.” It was a command.

Steve rolled his hips up and Bucky sank down and for a moment, he saw stars. He blindly ground into Steve and whimpered.

Steve wanted to remember that noise forever. But his fuzzy mind was making any thought difficult and Bucky--this whole thing--was distracting. He opened his mouth and tipped his head back. When Bucky stooped over, he caught his mouth in a sloppy kiss, while they ground and bucked together.

It was messy. Not exactly rough, but they butted against each other, a clash of teeth and limbs. There were going to be bruises. Bucky felt like he was doing this for the first time again, but better.

So much better.

“Stevie,” he moaned into his mouth, though the name was lost against his lips and his tongue. 

Steve’s legs shook violently. His hands, blunted nails and long fingers, scrabbled against Bucky’s chest, dropped down to grab at his thighs, curling into the stockings, into Bucky’s muscled legs. He bucked helplessly into Bucky and he could feel his orgasm building--he was overheated, like white hot coals had settled into his lower abdomen, between his legs. 

He came after Bucky sank down on him again, when he felt Bucky squeeze around him. Steve didn’t cry out. He bit his lip, he slammed his hips upward, he squeezed his eyes shut. He breathed sharply out through his nose.

And finally, when those waves of pleasure subsided, he sank down, his limbs limp on the couch.

Bucky wasn’t done with him yet.

He wriggled his hips, enjoying the extra slick. His hand dropped down to his own cock, hard and dribbling precum onto Steve’s belly. He started to stroke himself quickly, while he ground on Steve’s slowly deflating dick.

Bucky’s eyes shut, dark and painted eyelashes fanning out over his cheeks. He tipped his head back and sighed. The dressing room was overly warm and smelled of sex. It was perfect.

He didn’t see Steve’s hand come up, shaking and just a little bit hesitant, but when those fingers closed around his cock, Bucky gasped aloud. Steve started to stroke him quickly. Bucky looked back down, his mouth open, and Steve was smirking up at him.

It was that mischievous grin that usually meant Bucky was about to go racing after him after whatever stupid stunt he pulled. Bucky moaned aloud, hunching over Steve. 

His free hands came up to sink into the couch cushions beside Steve’s head. He dug his fingers into the cushions. He rutted desperately into Steve’s hands.

Steve knew how to do this at least. His tongue crossed over his lips and his mouth hung open while he worked Bucky over.

Bucky ground into Steve, into him, his hands. And his hips shuddered and he groaned, his cum finally striping over Steve’s bare belly.

“St-Steve,” he murmured throatily. His limbs were limp and moving seemed like the worst idea ever.

“You’re heavy,” Steve whispered. 

And Bucky moved then, dragging himself off of Steve and falling to the couch beside him. “Whiner,” he muttered. But he was already sitting on the couch. He could feel Steve’s cum leaking from him. It was going to make a mess, but he’d already moved once.

He breathed out slow and closed his eyes, just basking in… everything. It was like a dream.

But Steve was quiet too. 

Too quiet.

Bucky opened his eyes and looked over at Steve. Those blue eyes were staring at him. 

It didn’t seem like his daze lasted too long.

“Penny for your thoughts,” Bucky said. His tongue was still thick and heavy. Each word slurred slightly into the other one.

Steve smiled a bit. It was lopsided. Bucky wanted to kiss him suddenly again.

“Is this going to be awkward later?” Steve asked Bucky.

Bucky scoffed and raised his hand to wipe at his face. It always was. But he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he let it be that way with Steve.

“Nah,” he told Steve and he reached out to pat Steve’s arm. “You’re thinking too much. Just enjoy this moment.”

Steve laughed. He dragged his legs up, folding them in front of himself, and he tipped to the side. He fell into Bucky’s side. It wasn’t the first time he was there, but it felt like it. 

“I think that’s the first time you’ve ever said I’m thinking too much,” Steve said. 

“Won’t let it happen again,” Bucky snorted again and lowered his hand to relax on top of Steve’s head. He let his fingers work through his hair. 

Steve didn’t knock his hand away this time.

Several minutes into their afterglow, when Bucky was almost certain that Steve was sound asleep, the door to the dressing room opened.

Bucky shot up into a sitting position, staring at the man who pushed open the door to enter. The man stopped, stared at Bucky, and then his eyes dropped down to Steve, who had been jolted upright, who was holding his back and grimacing. The man raised his eyebrows at Bucky and said, “Good night, then?”

Bucky gave a grin while moving to throw a forgotten pillow over Steve’s lap. “GIve us a minute.”

The man obligingly closed the door and Bucky waited a beat before looking at Steve.

“You should get going,” he told Steve. He stood slowly, wobbling on those heels. He sat back down again and started to ease them off.

“Not without you,” Steve answered, frowning at him.

Bucky thought about protesting. But he nodded. This was no longer just his thing. “Sure, sure,” he agreed and he set aside the heels. He stood again and held out his hand to Steve. Steve took it and stood.

The two men got dressed in silence and when Bucky opened the door, the man from before gave him a grin. Bucky tried not to turn too pink, but he lead Steve from the dressing room.

The bar was starting to fill up. It was about that time. Music filled the room. Conversation was starting to turn into a dull roar. Couples were already pairing up, tucking themselves into dark corners or booths or outright dancing on the floor. All of them were men.

Steve stared as they walked by. He had never imagined anything like this place. But he kept close to Bucky, following him to the door.

He wanted to stay. Wanted to come back another time. This spiritual awakening was overwhelming.

Bucky stopped by the door and looked back at Steve. He was expecting judgement or reservations or something at this point. He saw wonder instead.

“Another night, Steve. Come on,” he promised. He opened the door, nodded to the bouncer, and headed out into the evening.

Steve was close behind.

Both of them smelled of the perfume that had been plaguing Bucky for weeks.

**Author's Note:**

> After I (scannerbrain) completed the story, Mojochojo was inspired to create another amazing piece:
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> Thank you to Mojochojo for being a wonderful partner and thank you to my several beta readers.


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